Erik is NOT Dead (Phantom of the Opera one-shots)

The Peace Spell

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

So, I came up with another little one-shot about Erik being part Fae. This thought has really stuck with me! I hope you like this angsty one-shot. 

Just a brief warning, this one-shot does talk about suicide.

sarahlet2999

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The Peace Spell

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The Peace Spell was taught to him by the gypsy witch.

She told him in all her cold gentleness and practical sympathy that it had been created for the half-breeds who lived too long but not long enough. The Fae felt pity for their offspring, trapped between two worlds where they fit in neither, so they gave them the ability to live a normal life and die a normal death in peace – a simple spell that would sap their life from them when they choose.

Even as a child, Erik understood the weight of this spell. The gypsy witch had handed him his own life in his hands. All her warnings about using it carefully and never giving up on life just because it didn't feel worth living fell onto deaf ears.

That night he tried to recite the spell but failed.

The spell only left him deathly ill for weeks rather than stealing his soul and taking him away from the pain of his life among the gypsies. The Peace Spell offered him a twisted sense of freedom, but his damned human side clung stubbornly to life.

Even as a child, Erik's Fae side wanted death.

The next time he tried the spell was when Luciana fell to her death.

He made it a quarter way through the spell before he couldn't speak anymore and merely kept running from Italy and the woman that lay on the ground, surrounded by her own blood and brains. The Peace Spell found its way into the bottom of his pack, abandoned but not forgotten.

The next time it was uncovered was when he laid Reza to rest.

The boy's soul left as soon as the last words were spoken, leaving a limp body left in Erik's arms. The Angel of Death laid the child back in the bed and walked away, feeling he earned his name for the first time in so long.

He was death, and he hated it.

The next time he tried to use it on himself was when he returned to Paris as he fled from Persia.

At his lowest moment, starving and cold, he pulled out the spell and made it halfway through before being unable to finish it. Weak from the strain, he barely survived as it was and made a future for himself in the bowels of the Opera House. The spell found its way into the back of his library, forgotten again.

The next time he brought it out was when Christine left him.

He promised her he would die when she left and as soon as she departed with her boy, he retrieved the spell and began to recite. He made it three quarters through before he collapsed unconscious, failing to finish the last magical blow.

When he returned to consciousness, the Daroga had come down to bury him. The Persian took pity on the man who couldn't find death no matter how hard he searched. He took him back to his home and nursed the half-breed, trying to bring him back to something like living.

When he met her, he put the spell away for a human lifetime.

She was pretty and sweet and loved her half-breed and all his Fae idiosyncrasies. She gave him seventy years of joy and seven slightly magical and perfectly normal children before she laid down for her mortal death.

As he held her body, wrinkled and old and as beautiful as it had ever been to him, he began to recite it one last time. This time, he completed it, closing his eyes for the final time with the love of his life coiled within his arms – his last motion to squeeze her corpse tighter to his heart.